


A Thrill of Hope

by aewriting



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Freak snowstorm, Hopeful Ending, Jealous Alex, Jealous Michael, M/M, Misunderstandings, Relationship Tension, Sharing a Bed, alcohol use, mentions of sexual situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21679831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aewriting/pseuds/aewriting
Summary: "Michael honestly hadn’t even realized it was December 23rd when he’d headed to the bar tonight. It had been a long day at the junkyard and, like so many other nights in recent memory, all he wanted was a cold beer and a warm body..."***When Michael unexpectedly encounters Alex at a bar, misunderstandings ensue.  But a freak snowstorm may be just what it takes to force them to finally communicate with each other.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 79
Kudos: 296
Collections: 12 Days Of Malex 2019





	A Thrill of Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [8Verity8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/8Verity8/gifts).



> Happy 12 Days of Malex, 8verity8!
> 
> 8verity8 gave me three AMAZING prompts for the fic exchange, and I ended up combining two of them to get this story:
> 
> 1) Michael getting jealous of Alex and Kyle's friendship.  
> 2) Michael and Alex on a road trip get caught in a snowstorm and have to stop for the night... and gasp! There was only one bed.
> 
> Thank you for the awesome inspiration! I took the liberty of tweaking these a little bit, but I hope you enjoy them!

Michael honestly hadn’t even realized it was December 23rd when he’d headed to the bar tonight. It had been a long day at the junkyard and, like so many other nights in recent memory, all he wanted was a cold beer and a warm body.

The Pony used to be his place. Cheaper drinks, better bartender. Since getting his ass banned following his crash and burn with Maria, though, he’s been forced to take his drinking elsewhere. Around town, Saturn’s Rings is known as the tourist bar, and that suits Michael just fine. Fewer frequent flyers; fewer entanglements. He’s had sex with tourists in every hotel in Roswell (not to mention a shitty Airbnb or two). He’s even managed a handjob in the bathroom with another dude – an indulgence he’s never allowed himself at the Pony with the likes of Wyatt Long and Racist Hank (rest in… the ground?) perpetually sniffing around.

No one vacations in Roswell over the fucking holidays, though. No, the people filling Saturn’s Rings tonight are mostly a young crowd, people that had actually managed to get _out._ He recognizes a few of them – Cassie Rodriguez, James Dixon, and Rex Rider had all graduated with him, but most of the folks are younger, kids back from college or jobs, in for the holidays. He takes in the laughter, the merriment… he can find a hookup no problem, tonight; it’s just a matter of _who_.

Michael surveys the scene. There’s Cristina, the bartender. She and Michael have hooked up a couple times over the last few months. He sees a cute blonde looking in his direction – she looks younger, and he gives her a quick smile. He continues looking around the room, coming to a dead stop when he notices a guy, great ass, bent over picking something off the floor. Yeah, that could do, that could _certainly_ do. The guy begins to stand, and…

“Fucking fuck,” Michael mutters, grimacing and turning away quickly. Valenti. God _damn_ it. He’s just checked out Kyle Fucking Valenti’s ass. Shit. Not really wanting a conversation, or even to be noticed, Michael ducks his head and puts on his cowboy hat, tucking his curls in as best he can. In a place like this, the hat helps him blend in far better than the curls do.

He eyes Valenti. What the fuck is he doing here, anyway? Besides rescuing dropped purses, apparently. He watches as Kyle makes his way to a table near the back, close to the games. He’ll have to come up for a drink at some point, and Michael hopes that he takes no notice of him.

And suddenly, the reason for Kyle’s presence is very apparent. Michael isn’t the only one avoiding the Pony these days. He watches intently as Kyle’s face breaks out into a broad smile as he greets Alex and wraps him into a strong hug.

Alex, fuck, he looks good. He’s been wearing his hair longer, his pants tighter. Gone are the bland flannels of old, replaced by soft looking knitwear, buttery leather jackets. Michael longs to touch him, knows he gave up that privilege months ago…

But here’s fucking Kyle, hugging the shit out of Alex like it’s nothing, like he didn’t call Alex every name in the book back in high school, like he hadn’t made it his one-man mission to ostracize him and ridicule him. And there’s Alex, letting himself be hugged, not just tolerating it but leaning in. Well, Michael hasn’t forgotten high school. He watches closely as Alex sits down, nice and easy, with none of the tension that has colored every fucking interaction he’s had with Michael over the past few months. With Michael, Alex has been so damn careful – giving Michael a wide berth, nowhere within even accidental touching distance. Most encounters, Kyle’s been there, too, and Alex has used him as a fucking shield, keeping him between Michael and Alex for entire conversations. He hasn’t even looked at Michael unless it’s been absolutely necessary.

Leave it to Alex to know how to fight a fucking battle.

The worst part, though, is that Michael knows he deserves it. He deserves the cool professionalism, the distance, the forced politeness. His eyes flick back to Kyle, who is, no joke, cocking a mischievous eyebrow Alex’s way and honest-to-god flexing his bicep at him. And there’s Alex, reaching out and _feeling_ it.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Were they…?

Could they be…?

Michael swallowed hard. No. No way. Kyle was, like, really straight.

Straight.

They’re just close friends.

Right?

Alex is laughing, now, really laughing, and so is Kyle. They’re having an animated conversation about something, and Alex is shaking his head. Kyle’s making an exaggerated pouty face at him, but Alex just waves him off, points to the bar. Kyle gives a quick smile and nod, pushes out his chair, and…

Fuck, he’s headed right toward Michael.

Michael _could_ leave. He could just get up, throw some money on the bar and walk out. Or, he could keep his head down, not look up, and drink his beer. There are lots of people around tonight. There’s a chance Kyle might not notice.

“Hey Guerin.”

Shit. “Kyle,” Michael says curtly.

“What brings you to Saturn’s Rings on this fine evening?”

“Oh, you know,” Michael says, stretching his arms out dramatically for show. “I’m not exactly welcome at the Pony. Need to get my booze somewhere.”

Kyle’s mouth twists a bit. “Yeah, I heard about you and Maria. I’m sorry, man.”

Michael tilts his head to the side. “Are you?”

Kyle just huffs a little laugh and motions to the bartender. Michael feels a little smug. A busy night like this, Kyle could be waiting for a while.

“Hola, Kyle! Cómo estás?” says Cristina almost immediately.

Or not. Michael looks skyward and heaves a dramatic sigh.

Kyle flashes a bright smile at Cristina. “Ah, bien, bien, gracias. Dos Michelob Ultras, por favor.”

“Ay, díos mío,” Cristina mutters, scrunching up her face in mock disgust.

“Hey, I’m watching my figure!” Kyle retorts with a laugh, patting his rock-hard mid-section.

“I’m sure plenty of other people are watching it, too,” Cristina says, chuckling, as she goes to retrieve the beers.

There’s an awkward moment as Kyle just stands next to Michael. “Um, Merry Christmas,” Kyle finally says. “How’s Isobel doing?”

Michael shakes his head and forces out a mean little chuckle. “She’s got a dead husband and a dead brother. How do you think she’s doing?”

Kyle’s shoulders slump a little. “Look, I’m sorry, I was just wondering. I haven’t seen her around lately, and she’s gone through a lot.”

Michael just scoffs.

“Do you have plans?” Michael stares at him blankly. “Like, for the holidays?”

Michael finally turns to face him fully. “Yeah, I’m planning to take the kids out for a sleigh ride, trim the tree… the _fuck_ , Valenti?”

“Forget it,” Kyle groans, smile gone.

“How bout you? You and Alex look awfully cozy over there.”

“What?”

“You two gonna head back to the old cabin, light a fire, exchange gifts?” Michael asks bitterly, giving the words a suggestive twist.

Kyle looks at him, expression odd. “Wait… are… are you jealous?” He leans in closer. “Are you jealous, Guerin? Because I swear, if you are, you have a lot of nerve, you know? “

Michael’s angry now, angry at being called out, angry at himself for giving it away. “Oh, fuck you, Kyle.”

Kyle pinches the bridge of his nose, and some of the anger seems to leave him, revealing only the underlying exhaustion. Kyle looks older, then, and it sobers Michael a bit. “Look, Michael, god knows you’ve got plenty to be angry about.” Kyle catches his gaze, holds it. “ _Plenty,_ ” he says, meaningfully. “But not this, not with Alex. Not, not this time, anyway.”

Michael looks at him sharply. “Yeah, he’s told me a little bit about… you. And him. And the past…” Kyle’s eyebrows raise of their own accord, mild disbelief written on his face, “…ten years, god.”

Michael gives a wry little smile. “Well, glad to hear he’s had a shoulder to cry on. And grope, apparently.”

Kyle purses his lips, looks at Michael for a long moment. “Alex is my friend. My _close_ friend, now, despite my absolute dickhead past. What you saw, well… we work out together. We tease each other about stuff.” Kyle sighs. “So you can relax.” Cristina sets the two beers in front of Kyle with a smile, which Kyle returns automatically. He grabs the cold bottles, turns, then hesitates. “But you should know, I’ve been doing my damnedest to set him up with someone who deserves him. Someone that can really be there for him, treat him right, so… there’s that.” Kyle picks up the beers and walks quickly over to Alex, who’s looking their way with a frown. Michael catches his eye for only a second before Alex blinks and turns away, toward Kyle.

***

All these stupid games, in Saturn’s Rings. Darts, a Megatouch console where a couple is drunkenly attempting a game of Photo Hunt, and an old Pinball machine. Not for the first time this evening, Michael wonders just how disruptive it would be if he sent a dart flying into Valenti’s beer bottle. Or maybe his tight fucking ass.

“Another, Michael?” asks Cristina.

“Nah,” Michael replies, “not yet.”

Cristina shrugs. “Hey Valenti, vas a misa mañana?”

Michael turns to see Kyle on his way out the door, rolling his eyes a little. “Ah, por supuesto, cada año, como un buen chico católico.”

“Ha, you haven’t been a practicing Catholic for years.” She eyes him mischievously. “Or a good boy, for that matter.”

He gives her a little smirk, touches a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell my mother.” His smile fades. “Guerin,” he nods, before walking out the door.

Michael looks at Cristina. “Does his charm work on everyone?”

“Why, you jealous?” she asks with a wink.

“Fuck,” Michael groans, “apparently.”

“Well, don’t be,” Cristina replies, misunderstanding him. Michael doesn’t correct her. “He’s my second cousin. Maybe third? Anyway, we’re related, somehow.”

Michael gives her a little smile, raises his beer. “To small towns. Where everyone’s connected by a fuck, one way or another.” She gives him a wink.

He gulps the remainder of the beer down, his only one of the night. He’d intended to have more, but something about seeing Alex and Kyle together, having fun, had killed the mood.

Alex… Had he missed him leave? He twists himself around on the bar stool in time to lock eyes with him.

It’s immediately apparent that Alex had been hoping to slip out the door unnoticed, and he seems put out that Michael caught him. Michael can actually see the debate in Alex’s eyes, that uncertainty of whether to engage with Michael or pretend not to notice him. Michael spares him the decision.

“Merry Christmas, Private.”

He can see Alex draw in a deep breath through his nose, exhale it slowly. “Merry Christmas, Guerin,” he replies, tone flat.

“Looked like a nice night, with Valenti. Nothing says happy holidays like a Michelob Ultra.”

Alex actually chuckles a little at that. “Hey, that was all Kyle. Stuff tastes like piss, if you ask me.”

“Piss, eh?” Michael says, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Things must be getting kinkier than I thought, with you and your new guys.”

“Wha- what?” Alex sputters. His mouth is hanging open, mask of indifference gone. “What did you just say to me?”

Michael brings his hand up to his forehead. “Forget it.”

Alex reaches a hand out, comes so close to touching Michael’s arm, then withdraws at the last minute. “No, what?” He shakes his head at Michael, a frown on his face. Eyes flashing. “You don’t… you don’t get to just say shit like that to me, okay?”

“No, you’re right,” Michael agrees, genuinely contrite. “It was stupid. I’m sorry.” He looks down. “Merry Christmas, Alex,” he finally says, quietly.

Alex looks at him for too long, then glances around the bar. He looks back at Michael, and his eyes seem to settle somewhere near Michael’s collar. His face goes very blank again. “How much have you had to drink, Guerin?”

Michael shrugs. “I dunno,” he mutters, just wanting Alex to be gone.

“Well you smell like a distillery.” Alex rubs at his face and sighs. “It’s already started snowing, and you’re drunk.”

Michael narrows his eyes. He wasn’t. Wasn’t drunk, that is. Probably _did_ smell like a distillery, what with the fuckin’ White Russian that got spilled on him earlier in the night. But he doesn’t correct Alex, just shrugs again.

“You can’t… you can’t drive drunk, Guerin, okay? Especially not in this weather.”

_Oh, I see plenty of potential rides here,_ Michael thinks, harsh and biting, wanting to hurt, wanting Alex to _react_ again. His mouth is half-open, ready to speak the words, when he really looks at Alex’s face. He appears concerned, soft in a way Michael hasn’t seen in a while. Michael closes his mouth and just stares.

The silence is clearly making Alex uncomfortable. “Um…” He looks at Michael’s collar again, then down at his boots. “Let me drive you home?”

Michael furrows his brow.

“You can call Isobel in the morning, maybe, have her drive you back out here to get your truck,” Alex adds quickly.

“Why you doin’ this?” Michael asks, voice low.

“Christmas, I guess,” Alex says quietly, not meeting Michael’s eyes.

Michael sighs, all fight gone. “Okay.” He pauses. “I still gotta pay. So… meet you out there?” He’ll at least spare Alex the potential embarrassment of someone seeing them leave together and jumping to… unwanted conclusions.

Alex scrutinizes him then nods, a bit uncertain, before exiting the bar.

With a low whistle, Michael turns around slowly in his stool to face Cristina. He throws a few bills down, tips his hat. “I’m off.”

“Alright Cowboy,” she responds, flirty. Michael’s suddenly glad that Alex is already gone. “Just don’t mosey in here tomorrow night. It’s Christmas Eve. We’ll be closed.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Michael says drily. He exits the bar and pulls his thin coat tighter around him. Christ, there’s already at least two inches of snow on the ground, and more is coming down fast in fat, wet flakes. Alex’s car is running, headlights on. He’s waiting for Michael.

***

“You okay, man?” Michael asks, not for the first time, as the car slips a bit before righting itself. Alex is driving right down the middle of the road, teeth clenched. At this point, he can’t even see the center line.

“I’m _fine,_ Michael,” Alex grits out, annoyed. “Believe me, these aren’t the worst conditions I’ve ever driven in.”

Michael glances down at Alex’s leg, looks away. No, he supposes Alex has seen worse, much worse. Not that’s he’s ever told him. Not that he’s ever asked. He clears his throat. “Well, I’ll just put it out there that if you need a little extra, um, help,” he waggles his fingers, “just say the word.”

Alex barks out a little laugh, hands still clenched tightly around the wheel. “Fuck, Guerin, yeah. I didn’t even think of that, honestly. Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

The car slips again, and Alex curses. It sounds… it sounds a little pained, to Michael’s ears. He wonders how this drive is affecting Alex, physically, but he doesn’t want to presume, doesn’t want to offend Alex by proposing help where it isn’t wanted.

“This is really coming down,” Alex mutters. “Were they calling for this?”

Michael grunts. “Fuck if I know.”

Alex gives a short chuckle. “Yeah.”

“This car isn’t really the best in this kind of weather,” Michael comments.

Alex shakes his head a little. “Tell me something I don’t know, Guerin.”

_I love you. Still. Never stopped._

Shit, shit, not that, don’t say _that._

“I hate Christmas,” Michael says after a beat.

“You hate Christmas?” Alex huffs a little breath, knits his eyebrows together. “Guess I didn’t know that,” he says, softer, more thoughtful. “Why?”

Michael blows out a breath. “Come on, Alex, you’re not dumb, especially not about shit like this. You know how I grew up. I’m sure you can fill in the blanks.”

Alex’s face tenses, and Michael knows that only some of the strain is related to the road conditions. “I only know what you told me, Guerin, which wasn’t a lot. Maybe I don’t _want_ to fill in the blanks. Maybe I want to hear it from you.”

Michael growls out a dark little laugh. “Fine, Alex. You wanna know? I’ll tell you. Those meth heads? One of them OD’ed on Christmas – big party, all that. Survived, but it was… it was bad. Most years, there was just… nothing. No presents, no nothing. The fundamentalists, god, that sucked. Hours of church.” He’s thoughtful, for a moment. “A few years, though, um…” He turns to Alex. “Did you have to go to church, as a kid?” Another thing that’s never been asked, never been told. A familiar script to Alex, Michael realizes. “Was your dad into that? Was that, like, part of his deal, why he hated you being gay so much?”

Alex shakes his head. “No, not really. I mean, we’d go to church on Christmas as a family, to keep up appearances, but that was it, really. Guess Dad hated me enough on his own without God joining in, too.”

Michael just bobs his head. “Yeah… well… some of the churches, they have these things, angel trees, for kids. Kids who might not, um, get presents.” He looks out the window. “I wonder how many trees my name was on, over the years. Some years, people would buy me something, some years they wouldn’t. People tended to like littler kids, babies. More fun to buy stuffed animals and shit than, like, a coat.” Alex’s eyes keep flicking between Michael and the road. “I did get a basketball once. And one year, god, I couldn’t believe it, I got a bike. An honest to god bike. The family’s real kid took it, of course, and I had to leave it when I got shipped to the next house like two months later…” Michael shrugs. “But it’s the thought that counts, right Manes?”

Alex’s eyes slide over to him. “That sucks, Michael,” he says, finally.

Michael’s mouth twists. “Yeah, boo hoo. I’m fucked up. Tell me something I don’t know,” he says, repeating Alex’s earlier words back to him.

“I hate Christmas, too,” Alex says quietly, after a moment. Michael says nothing, and Alex eventually continues. “It was fine early on. Like, before Mom left. After, though…” He laughs a little, shakes his head. “I mean, it wasn’t like the shit you went through, but my dad, he… he’d buy me gifts that were just, like, for the son he wanted. The son that wasn’t me.” Alex is white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Country music CDs. Toby Keith and shit. A bow. A hunting knife. Polo shirts.”

“Your father bought you a fuckin’ Toby Keith CD?”

“ _Shock’n Y’all_ ,” Alex says flatly.

“Holy fuck,” Michael groans. “God, I knew he hated you, but that… that’s terrible.”

Alex chuckles a little but it dies quickly, leaving nothing but the underlying tension.

“He really is terrible, Alex,” Michael says, his voice suddenly low and serious in a way it wasn’t before, in a way it hasn’t been with Alex in a long time. “I’m sorry you had to grow up with him. I’m sorry he’s your dad.” He swallows. “And I’m sorry, right when you came back, that I brought him up the way I did. To get to you. That was such an asshole move, and I’m sorry.”

He can see Alex sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. His jaw is tight. “Thank you,” he whispers.

There’s a charge, now, in the air in the truck. Michael can hear Alex’s breathing.

Alex licks his lips. “Not every Christmas was bad. I definitely have a favorite.” Michael is quiet, looking at him expectantly. “I was 18. First time back in Roswell since enlisting.”

Michael inhales sharply. Fuck, of course he remembers that Christmas, the only good one in his miserable life. He’d met Alex at a cheap motel outside of town, almost unrecognizable with his hard body and his short, short hair. Michael still remembers how the hair felt under his fingertips, buzzed down to the scalp, wrong on Alex. But everything else, so right, so fucking right…

“That Christmas,” Alex starts, almost hesitant, “all I wanted… _all_ I wanted was you.”

Alex is still gripping the wheel, concentrating on steering the car down the slick road, but his eyes are wide when they flick over to Michael, wide like they were in that motel a decade ago as he begged Michael to please, please Michael, _please_ just -

“ _I’ve been doing my damnedest to set him up with someone who deserves him. Someone that can really be there for him, treat him right…_ ”

Fuck.

Michael purses his lips. Fuck. Valenti, damn him, is right. He forces himself to let out a light little laugh. “Careful, Mariah,” he makes himself say, like an ass. “Might not want to share that memory with your new boyfriends.”

A little pained sound escapes Alex, and his hands tighten on the wheel. He mutters something, but Michael can’t make it out. Where there was tenderness before, arousal, even, there’s nothing but frustration. Anger.

But Alex is military. And his father’s son.

Michael watches as Alex’s face goes almost blank, cold. “My new boyfriends…” he finally says, voice tight and controlled. “Someone told you about that?”

Michael nods, fast. “Valenti. In the bar.”

“Ah.” Alex’s jaw is tight, and his eyes are narrow now, stony as they glance over at Michael. “You’re clearly not hurting for company, either.”

Michael looks down at his lap.

“Who was it, at the bar tonight?” Alex asks.

Michael whips his head up and looks at him, confused. “What?”

Alex rolls his eyes, dismissive. “Come on, Guerin. I know what a cum stain looks like,” he says, matter-of-fact. “It’s all down the front of your jacket. So… who was it?”

Michael’s reeling, looks down at himself. Sure enough, there are white splatters on the dark fabric of his jacket. Fuck. The fucking White Russian. It does look… bad. He can see how Alex’s mind went there.

His first instinct is to bite back, spin a tall tale designed to hurt. Five years ago, he’d have said it was Valenti. He thinks back to the bar. Rex Rider. One of Valenti’s high school football buddies, back before Kyle got woke. Rex, though… still sound asleep. Tall and dumb. Good-looking and bigoted.

_Yeah,_ Michael wants to say. _You’re right. I sucked off Rex Rider in the bathroom tonight. Got on my knees for him. Let him fuck my face. I liked it._ He _wants_ Alex’s anger, disapproval, hurt, revulsion… jealousy. He’ll take _anything_ , anything except this cold apathy.

He gets ready to pull the pin, fire the verbal grenade, but first he eyes his target… and stops. Because he can see, there, beneath the coldness, that Alex is scarcely keeping it together.

It takes the fire out of him immediately, leaving him hollow. An empty shell.

A dud.

He sinks down into his seat. Alex’s lip is quivering, just barely. Most people wouldn’t notice. Alex scrunches up his nose. “Maybe you don’t know his name,” he says, nonchalant but not really. “Not like I’ve never had an anonymous fuck. Just not…” his voice breaks a bit, “not right here. In Roswell.” With the headlights reflecting off the white, white snow, Michael can see the moment Alex’s eyes get wet. “Where’d you do it?” Alex’s mouth is twisting up, now, and Michael can see that Alex knows, _knows_ that he’s not fooling Michael any more with the detachment. “In the bathroom?” His chin wobbles a little. “Back alley, in the snow? In… in your truck?”

Michael closes his eyes, just breathes. In, out. In, out.

In, out.

“Why do we do this, Alex?”

There’s silence. Michael watches as Alex safely navigates the car into the junkyard, right up to the Airstream. He throws the gear shift into park and removes his hands from the steering wheel. He’s flexing them, rubbing them. He’s still not looking at Michael.

“Do what?” he finally asks, sounding defeated.

“Hurt each other.”

The words hang there. Michael watches as Alex leans back heavily in the driver’s seat, tips his head back and closes his eyes.

Finally, Alex gives a small shake of his head – no more than a twitch, really. “It’s all we know.”

They stay there, like that, for a long time, Michael staring at Alex, Alex closing his eyes to Michael and the world. By the time Alex finally shifts in his seat, the windshield is already covered in snow. It makes the inside of the car feel private, cave-like, and Michael can’t decide if that’s comforting or stifling. Maybe a bit of both.

“This is your stop,” Alex says quietly, as if they both didn’t know that.

Michael inhales, exhales, reaches for the car door, and stops.

“It was a White Russian,” he says, simply.

Alex turns to look at him sharply. “The… the guy?” he sputters.

“What? No,” Michael assures him quickly. “At the bar,” Michael tries to explain. “Some chick spilled a White Russian on me.” Alex blinks. “The cocktail, you know? Kahlua? Cream? Regret?” Alex makes a little sound. Michael hopes it’s a laugh. “Vodka, too, I think. I mean, it’s no Michelob Ultra, but…” His voice trails off, and he clears his throat. “That’s what this is,” he says, pointing to his collar, to his front pocket. “And… and that’s why I smelled. Like liquor. I only had one beer tonight. I wasn’t…” He bites his lip. “I’m not drunk.”

Alex is looking at him with those big eyes, brow creased. His words are careful, when he finally does speak. “So… you didn’t actually need me to drive you out here. In a snowstorm.”

Michael drops his gaze, shakes his head.

“Mmm…” Alex is looking at Michael, considering him. “Why’d you let me?”

Michael laughs. “You were pretty insistent.”

“No, Michael, that’s not it. If you didn’t want me, you wouldn’t have come.” Alex squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, realizing his slip. “Dammit. If you didn’t want _to_ , you wouldn’t have come.”

Michael just stares at him.

Alex’s mouth is a thin little line. “Okay, okay,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “Well, it’s getting late, and these roads aren’t great, so I should probably get back to the cabin.” He pauses. “So goodnight, Michael.” Alex swallows. “Um… Merry Christmas, okay?”

Michael looks at him, just looks. With a sigh, he finally opens the car door, which lets the accumulated snow from the car’s roof slide down and fall onto his knees. “Aw shit,” he barks out, startled. He looks around the junkyard – it’s pitch black. “Shit,” he mutters. Power’s out. _Maybe Max is having a good night,_ he thinks wryly, before he catches himself, and the amusement takes a hard turn into grief. No… no, dammit. This was just regular old weather, not Max. Max… Max is still dead.

Alex must notice something. “What is it, Guerin?”

Michael’s frowning. “The power. Power’s out.”

“Shit,” Alex mutters. “What are you gonna do?”

“I have a generator,” Michael explains. “Just need to get it running. Can probably do it from here, actually.” He closes his eyes, and after a few seconds there’s a gentle humming, and the lights in the Airstream come on. With a final look back at Alex, he exits the car, stands and –

“Shit!”

The junkyard is a sheet of ice. Michael’s flailing, slipping, and finally falls, flat on his ass.

“Guerin! Guerin!” Alex is calling.

Michael can hear him unbuckling his seatbelt. “No, Alex, stay put okay?” Michael shakes his head, face red. “Shit.” He grips the car and pulls himself upright.

“You okay?” Alex asks. He looks legitimately concerned, and it warms some cold part of Michael.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, but Alex…” Michael looks right at him. “There’s no way you’re driving home in this.” Alex huffs out a little laugh, opens his mouth to speak, but Michael beats him to it. “No, seriously, man, the roads are shit. And I know your leg’s bothering you.” Alex’s mouth snaps closed. “Even if you made it back to your cabin, there’s no power, and if the ground up there is anything like it is here, it would be really fucking hard to get around on your prosthesis.”

“Says the guy who just fell on his ass.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting it.” Michael just sighs wearily. “Come on, Alex, please. Nothing funny. Please? Honestly, in this weather, I’d be making this offer to anybody.” He scrunches up his face. “Valenti, even.”

The comment seems to relax something in Alex. He huffs a little and shakes his head. “Well, you sure know how to make a guy feel special.” He lifts one shoulder, acquiescing to the plan. “Help me out?”

***

They make it into the Airstream without incident using a combination of muscle, patience, and powers. The Airstream is cold, and Alex zips his jacket up all the way, keeping out the chill. Keeping out Michael. “Shouldn’t take too long to heat up. Want something warm to drink in the meantime? Coffee?”

“Seems a little late for that.”

Michael looks in the direction of his little pantry cabinet, as if that would make groceries suddenly materialize. “I… I don’t have a lot.”

Alex softens. “Maybe just some hot water then?”

Michael nods quickly and pulls out a pot, fills it with water, and gets a burner going.

“I’m gonna sit,” Alex says. Michael watches out of the corner of his eye as he sits down heavily on the narrow bed of the Airstream. Alex rubs his right thigh, then his hands move lower. He pauses, then glances at Michael. “You don’t care if I…?”

“No! God, no, do whatever you need to do.”

Alex gives a tight nod. With one more glance at Michael, he’s removing his right shoe, unbuckling his belt.

Michael turns away quickly, trying not to think about the last time Alex was in his bed, pulling off clothing. He wonders if Alex is thinking about it, too. “You want sweatpants or something?” Michael asks, eyes still on the pot of water.

“That would be good, thank you,” says Alex politely. Michael passes him on the way to the closet, can’t not look. Boxer briefs. Grey.

Avoiding Alex’s eyes, Michael places clothes on the end of the bed, within arm’s reach. “There’s a sweatshirt there too, and thicker socks… um, sock. Those’ll be more comfortable for you. Warmer, too.” He allows himself a glance at Alex, who is just staring at him. Michael swallows. “Everything’s clean, so, um, don’t worry about that.”

“I wasn’t. Wasn’t worried.”

“Oh. Okay.” The water’s finally boiling, and Michael pours it into a little metal mug that Isobel had gotten him. It’s nicer than most of his kitchen accessories, so he gives it to Alex.

“Thanks,” Alex says, blowing on the side of the mug with that pink mouth of his, and fuck…

Michael turns away, pours his own cup. He raises it. “Merry fucking Christmas, huh?”

Alex smiles, lopsided, and Michael doesn’t even notice the chill. “I’ve had worse.”

***

They’ve changed clothes. They’ve finished their mugs of hot water. They can’t see their breath anymore.

Alex yawns.

Michael stares.

“Um, thanks for letting me crash here. Tonight.”

“Sure.”

“Listen, I’m getting kind of tired, so I think I might, um, try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Yup, sounds good.” Michael watches as Alex sits on the bed but doesn’t move.

“Where are you going to sleep?”

Michael shrugs. “Floor’s fine for me.”

Alex brings a hand to his head, grimaces. “Christ, no, that’s not fine. Can’t let you do that.”

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

Alex looks down. “Dammit,” he mutters. “Just get in the bed, Guerin. It’ll be fine.”

_Really?_ Michael wants to ask. _Will it really be fine?_

“Okay,” Michael says.

***

It sounds so still, so quiet, but with one noise out of place.

Breathing. Someone else’s.

Michael freezes, orients himself. He’s in the Airstream. He’s… clothed, which is a little unusual, in a thermal henley and worn sweatpants. Socks. He’s actually a little cold, which is even more unusual.

And, sleeping curled up against him, is Alex, similarly attired, hair disheveled.

Michael allows his whole body to relax, and for at least a little while, he lets himself pretend.

Pretend he and Alex are together, with a title, even – boyfriends, partners, what have you. Pretend that this is their first official Christmas together, and when Alex wakes up they’re going to make something special for breakfast. Maybe bacon. Pancakes. French toast. But first, lazy kisses, bodies pressed against each other, hands pulling down sweatpants, reaching down boxers, grasping and rocking together until…

No, dammit. Michael makes himself look around, really look. He lives in a fucking trailer. The best he and Alex are going to get for breakfast this morning is some coffee, maybe a few spoonfuls each of peanut butter straight from the jar. He doesn’t have food, and he certainly doesn’t have Alex.

It's as if Alex senses his despair, because he starts stirring. Michael goes very still and just watches. He’s seen Alex wake up startled, fearful, but today it’s just the opposite. His eyes flutter open slowly, face soft and relaxed. He seems at ease, here, despite the narrow thin mattress, despite Michael’s proximity. There’s a breathtaking moment, a brief one, when Alex’s eyes slide over to him and he smiles, so soft, so unguarded.

Then the eyes widen, panicky. “Shit,” Alex says quickly, propping himself up on one arm and looking around wildly. He looks down, at his borrowed sweats, and seems to relax slightly. “Ah, okay, okay,” he says, mostly to himself. The tension’s back, in his jaw, in his brow.

“Morning,” Michael says.

Alex huffs out a little laugh in return. “Morning.” He narrows his eyes and looks toward the windows, covered in paper. “You looked outside yet?”

“Nope.”

“Mmm.” Alex begins to stretch his neck, his arms, winces a bit.

Michael frowns. “How are you feeling? I… I know it’s not the most comfortable bed in the world.”

Alex’s face softens a little. “It was fine, Michael, it was actually… well, I slept better last night than I usually do, so thank you for letting me crash here.” Michael shrugs. “My leg is still a little sore. I haven’t pushed it like that, with driving since… since everything.” Michael presses his lips together. It’s moments like this that he wants to ask. Hear what happened. Hold Alex while he talks, tells him everything. There’s so much they haven’t said, so fucking much…

Michael clears his throat, then turns, peels back a corner on the nearest paper-covered window. “Oh, fuck.”

Alex looks alarmed. “What?”

“We got a shit ton of snow last night. Look.”

Michael startles as Alex rolls right over onto him, twisting his body to get a better view. “Sorry,” Alex mutters, belatedly realizing the compromising position he’s put them in. “Sorry,” he repeats, trying and failing to get off of Michael. The bed’s so narrow that it’s probably impossible. Michael throws up his hands and just lays back. “Do what you need to do, Manes.”

Alex throws him an exasperated glance before allowing even more of his weight to settle on Michael. He pushes up on the mattress, in one of the few spaces their bodies aren’t occupying, and he peers out the window. “Wow…” he murmurs. He stays there for a moment before remembering himself. He quickly lowers himself and rolls off of Michael, back to the narrow sliver of bed he originally occupied. “There’s a lot of snow out there. Thanks, um… thanks for letting me stay last night.” He looks at Michael, a little concerned. “You have water, food?”

“A little,” Michael shrugs. “Like, we’ll survive.” It won’t be pancakes, Michael thinks. Hot chocolate and fresh squeezed orange juice. Too much butter and syrup...

***

Alex looks younger than he is, sitting on Michael’s disheveled bed in ill-fitting sweats, licking peanut butter off a spoon. “Um, do you want me to wash it, between bites?”

Michael puts down his coffee mug. “What?”

“The spoon,” Alex says, a little uncomfortable. “Should I wash it, or just go for it? Like, double dip?”

“Double fucking dip, are you kidding me? I’ve eaten your ass. I’m not worried about sharing a jar of peanut butter.”

Alex glares at him and aggressively jams his used spoon back in the peanut butter jar. His jaw is tight, and so is his voice when he finally speaks. “Do you think, for one day, we could just drop it?” Michael just looks at him. “Like, drop the attitude, the little insults?” Alex sighs. “It’s Christmas, Christmas Eve, anyway. If you’re game, I am. Consider it a gift. One day of being… I dunno, nice?”

Michael narrows his eyes. He looks sincere. He spits into his hand, holds it out. “A Christmas truce.”

Alex eyes his hand with disgust. Michael can tell that Alex’s quick mind wants to drum up an insult, but he holds back, spits into his hand, and holds it out. “A Christmas truce,” he repeats, nose wrinkling as they shake on it. “And now I need to wash my hands,” he says, standing up and balancing carefully against the walls of the Airstream as he makes his way to the bathroom. Michael hears the water, sees Alex wipe his hands off. “Your turn, Guerin.”

“Aye, aye, private.”

***

“So… what did you do in the Air Force? When you were bored?” Alex glances up. Michael shrugs. “Tryin’ to make conversation here, Manes.”

Alex looks thoughtful. “Cards. Poker, mostly. We’d tell stories, dumb jokes, kind of get on each other’s cases a little.” Alex smiles a little. “First deployment, I actually smoked, a little. It was kind of this universally accepted way to kill time, get a break.”

“You did used to be quite the rebel,” Michael says, not unkindly.

Alex’s smile fades. “Used to be.”

***

“I’ve finally got some service,” Alex says.

“No power yet, though.”

“Nah…” Alex’s eyes are scanning the screen. “Damn, looks like this was pretty bad. They’re not expecting power to get restored for at least another day.”

“Mmm…” Michael glances out the window. “Still looks rough out there.” When he turns back around, Alex is watching him. “What?”

“What were you going to do? For Christmas?”

Michael leans heavily against the counter. “Nothing, really. Most years, Isobel would throw a party. Neither of us really feels like celebrating, though, with Max still out. Just doesn’t feel right. Figured I’d just sort of sit here, drink a little… wasn’t counting on this snow.” He eyes Alex. “How about you? Any plans, with…” Be nice. They said they’d be nice. “With anyone special?”

Alex looks at him for a long moment before responding. “No,” he finally says, softly. “I’m not seeing anybody right now.”

It’s like someone’s punched the air out of him. “But Valenti, he…” Michael swallows, tries to slow down. “Kyle, he said that he was setting you up. With people that, um… that deserved you.”

Alex rakes a hand over his face. “Oh, Kyle,” he mutters tiredly. He peeks up at Michael, and his face is serious. “I… we said we’d be nice. And I honestly don’t know if this is nice, like for you to hear about this kind of thing.” Michael looks at him blankly. “Me and other guys.”

Michael feels nervous now. “Um…” He looks at his feet. “I mean, I want to know what’s going on in your life. Just…” He laughs a little, shakes his head. “You know me, Alex. Usually, I’m pretty shameless. Like, I’ll talk about anything. Sex… it doesn’t embarrass me. I’ve never been afraid to be an open book about shit like that.” He can see Alex swallow hard, look away. “That… that wasn’t meant to be a knock on you, um… but, when it comes to you, I guess…it’s harder?” He feels so uncertain. He _wants_ to know, because of fucking course he does. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to hurt, doesn’t want to have confirmation of the already painful scenarios he’s imagined.

Alex speaks carefully. “Kyle set me up on a few dates. They were fine, like, both guys were nice. But they didn’t really go any farther than that.” Alex opens his hands. “And that’s it. No more to tell, really.”

Michael slumps against the counter. He feels… relieved? Until he looks back at Alex, that is.

Alex is picking at the blanket on the bed, avoiding Michael’s eyes. “Just, um… just so you know, Guerin? For me? Hearing about you and other people?” Alex’s mouth keeps twisting around. “For me, um, that wouldn’t be nice. So… please don’t tell me. Not today. I don’t want to know.”

***

“A royal fucking flush? What the hell, Alex?”

Alex is grinning. He raises an eyebrow. “You owe me now, Guerin.”

“I owe you shit! We’re not playing for money!”

“Maybe we’ll figure out some other form of payment,” Alex says, loose and almost flirty. Michael’s eyes widen, and Alex seems to remember himself. “Nevermind,” he says quickly, throwing down his cards and gathering up the rest in his hand, shuffling them quickly. “I… I owe _you_ , really, for letting me stay here.”

Michael scoffs. “Letting you? I’m the one that had you drive me out here in the middle of a blizzard.”

Alex eyes him. “Yeah, well, that wasn’t exactly your idea, was it?” He shuffles the cards once more, twice. “How long do you think we’ll be stuck here, anyway?”

Stuck. _Stuck._ Michael swallows hard, makes a show of peering out the window. “Probably through tomorrow, honestly. And with the temperature dip tonight, we’ll have to see how icy it is tomorrow.”

Alex gives a tight nod. “Hmm…”

Michael stares at him, trying to get a handle on the frustration that’s building. “Spit it out, Alex.”

“What?”

Michael looks away, takes a breath. They said they’d be nice. “You’re obviously bugged about something. I’m assuming it’s the fact that you’re stuck in this shitty tin can with me.” Alex is just staring at him. “And I know I’m probably the last person you wanted to spend Christmas with – “

Alex scoffs, looks skyward.

“See?” Michael exclaims. “You’re doing it right now.” He shakes his head. “Fuck, I know we said we’d be nice, but… but shit, Alex, it isn’t nice if you’re just, like, gritting your damn teeth to get through this.”

When Alex finally meets his eyes, his face is tense. Without warning, though, his shoulders slump, and he looks at Michael, really looks. “I’m on a lot of meds, Michael.” Alex’s voice is soft. “For a lot of shit. My leg, my nightmares…” Alex looks out the window. “That’s one of the reasons I don’t really drink much anymore. But all my stuff, it’s at the cabin. And if I can’t get there tonight, then, well, I dunno what kind of effect it’s gonna have. Like, I can already kind of feel that things aren’t right with my leg.” He shrugs his shoulders a little. “Um, that’s why I was asking, earlier, about how long we might be here. It wasn’t… it’s not to do with you.”

Michael stares at him. He suddenly stalks over to the window, closes his eyes, and raises a hand.

“What… um, what are you doing?”

“Getting the ice off of your fucking – “ _Breathe, dammit. Fucking breathe_. “Off of your car.” Michael’s lips are set in a thin little line.

Alex’s brow is creased. “Michael, the roads are bad, you said so yourself.”

Michael whirls around. “I wish,” he starts, punctuating each word, “that you would have told me earlier about your meds. I didn’t know. Would’ve never had you stay here this long if I’d known. I’m taking you to the cabin. I’ll use my powers if the roads are bad, keep us in line. And I’m driving. Don’t want you messing up your leg even more on account of me.”

Alex opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it. Considers Michael. “Fine,” he says tightly, “but on one condition.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “What?”

“You’re staying there too.”

Michael scoffs. “Yeah right, like I’m going to make you house my sorry ass on Christmas? No way.”

Alex’s hand is balled into a fist. He’s angry, which surprises Michael, enough to make him pause. “I…” Alex starts. “We said that we would be nice today. And I’m trying really hard to do that right now. Because if you think I am going to let you just drive me to my cabin, say goodbye, then… what? All we have is my car. And there’s nowhere to walk from my place.”

Oh. Michael hadn’t really thought about that. The logistics, the car situation.

Alex shakes his head a little. “But, um, it’s not like I wanna keep you hostage there, especially since it seems like you don’t want to stay.”

Michael huffs out a little breath. “It’s, it’s not that.”

That disarms him a little. “Oh, well, okay.” Alex seems hesitant. “Um… I have food at my place. A lot of it. I… I think it’s like a military thing. And, um, the way I grew up. Being prepared, all that. A generator. Lots of fuel for it. Firewood. You could sleep on the couch, right by the fire. I have extra blankets and pillows.” His eyes flick to Michael’s hand. “Even, um, a guitar, if you want. To pass the time.” The big eyes are back, the open face. That edge of desperation that Michael’s seen before, heard before from Alex in other contexts, other times. A tool shed. A truck. A shitty motel on a stolen Christmas. “Please, Michael. Please, _please_ just – “

_Fuck._ “Yes.”

***

The drive to the cabin is tense, but in a different way than the previous drive. It takes Michael a lot of concentration and effort to keep Alex’s car on the road, going the direction he wants it to go.

“You okay?” Alex asks, arm outstretched, offering Michael a bottle of nail polish remover.

Michael grabs it wordlessly and swigs. “Better now, thanks.” He doesn’t even have to look at Alex to sense the worry. “I’ve been practicing,” he says, unprompted.

“Practicing?” Alex repeats.

Michael nods. “Yeah. With my powers. Like, I’m stronger now than I was. Better. Max, he always hated when we used our powers. I think I always pushed it a little more than him and Izzy, but with him gone, I figure as long as I’m in private, might as well let ‘er rip.” He realizes, suddenly, that he and Alex haven’t really talked about any of this since Max died. They’d talked about Project Shepherd, sure, about files and experiments and potential leads. But not about what actually happened. Michael suddenly has a desire to feel Alex out a bit, get a sense for his reactions.

“I’ve been practicing because I figure it’s going to take a lot from me, and Iz, to bring Max back.” Alex is quiet. “Liz is working on a serum. It’s supposed to make us stronger. Amplify our powers. I get to be her guinea pig.”

“Have… have you tried it yet?”

“Nah, not yet.”

There’s silence, for a moment. “Please be safe about it, Michael.”

Michael shakes his head, laughs a bit. “Come on, Manes, none of this is safe. You know that.” Michael’s quiet as he guides the car through a particularly icy stretch of road. “You know Izzy can move shit now?”

“What?”

“Yeah. Little stuff. She’s getting stronger, though. Liz thinks we should all be able to expand our range of powers. Kind of like Noah did.”

“So…” Alex started slowly. “That would mean you should be able to, what, heal people? And, um, get in people’s heads?” Another pause. “Have you tried that at all? With anybody?”

Michael barks out a little laugh. “Why, you worried?” Michael sneaks a look over at him, sees his frown. “Afraid I’ll make you do something?”

The frown deepens. “I… _no._ ” Michael feels Alex’s hand on his thigh, warmer than it should be. “I… I trust you, Guerin. I wouldn’t be here right now if I didn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” Michael says. “For all you know, I mind-whammied you back at the bar, convinced you to take me back to my place.”

Alex’s hand withdraws. “God, why do you do this?” He’s shaking his head, Michael can tell. “It’s like you can’t, can’t hear that I might still think something good about you. It’s like you can’t even hear it. Back in the bar was all me. Because I thought you were drunk, and it was bad weather, and I didn’t want you to get hurt, or hurt someone else.” A long pause. “And… and because I didn’t want to have to, to watch you…” Alex trails off.

“Watch me what?” Alex won’t look at him and won’t finish his sentence. “Watch me _what,_ Alex? Get shitfaced? Slut around? Fucking talk to you in public?”

Alex sighs wearily. “Jesus…” He’s taking one of those deep fucking breaths he does now, exhaling it slowly. He turns his face away from Michael, just looks out the window. Michael can feel the tension radiating off of him. “The turn’s coming up,” he finally says, tightly.

Michael nods. “I’ve never been to your place before.”

“I know.”

***

The cabin looks pretty much like Michael’d imagined, but maybe a little better, all covered in snow. Again, if he let himself fantasize, he could pretend this was some kind of getaway. They’d light a fire, fuck in front of it, shower together, fall asleep, repeat...

Unfortunately, real Alex is sitting stonily in the passenger’s seat, having not exchanged more than two words at a time for the remainder of the drive.

Michael wonders, suddenly, at his tendency to needle him, to get under his skin. To hurt. He’s so fucked up. Because he knows he loves Alex, knows it in his bones, in a visceral way, but he also knows that he wants a reaction, and if it’s not love, then, well, anything will do.

“ _Even negative attention is attention,”_ he hears in his head, in the voice of one of his old social workers. 

He takes a deep breath, turns to Alex. “I’m sorry I was kind of a shit there, about the mind stuff. I haven’t tried it yet. Honestly, it scares me a little, having that power. I… I don’t want it. And I definitely wouldn’t use it on you, not without you knowing, okay?”

Alex seems almost startled by the admission. “Um… okay.”

Michael extends his hand. “Does the Christmas truce still stand?”

A little tension leaves Alex, and he nods. “Yeah. Sure. Just don’t make us spit again.”

Michael winks at him. “Not unless you want to.”

***

It’s still light, outside, but barely. Days are short, now, and Michael wants to get the cabin prepped before the sun is totally gone. It’s unearthly still, here in the woods, with the blanket of undisturbed snow muffling all sound.

Alex leans on Michael, lets him help him into the cabin, and Michael’s grateful for that. They don’t talk, there’s no need to as Michael unlocks the door with his mind. Alex says nothing, doesn’t even look at him.

“Go take your meds,” Michael mutters.

“Yeah,” Alex says, head bobbing in agreement. “I’m gonna get my crutches, too.”

Michael nods. “While you do that, I’ll get a fire going.”

“Wood’s stacked by the side of the house.”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “You do that?”

Alex shrugs. “Kyle helped.”

Of fucking course he did. Michael suddenly gets this porny image in his mind of Kyle, shirtless, chopping wood while Alex looks on approvingly from the porch. He shakes his head, as if that will make the thoughts go away. “Okay,” he says. “Be back in a few.”

He uses his powers, because why the hell not? If he’s being honest with himself, he might want to show off a little, let Alex see that he can be useful, that he’s not just a fuck-up. And when the wood floats into the cabin, straight to the fireplace, Alex _does_ seem a little awed.

“I don’t think that’ll ever get old.”

Michael shrugs. “Everything gets old. Older, anyway.” He pauses. “Or dead.”

The comment seems to shut Alex down a little, and Michael regrets it. Alex is on his crutches now. He’s good with them, and he’s maneuvering into the little kitchen and pantry area. “Would you mind getting the generator going? It’s behind the cabin.”

Michael nods. “Sure.” He’s relieved to be asked, glad that Alex seems comfortable enough with him to give him these little tasks. Or maybe he just doesn’t want him in his space at the moment.

When he gets back inside, Alex is holding out a bottle of water. “Here. Drink this.” Michael accepts it gratefully. He knew the water was limited back at the Airstream, so he’d held back. He’s thirsty, and Alex seems to know it. He can feel his face heating up, knowing that Alex is watching him drink the water, too interested. “You need more?” he asks, offering another bottle. Michael hesitates.

“I have a lot,” Alex says, gesturing to the cupboard behind him, and sure enough, there are large flats of water, some in gallon jugs, some in bottles. Michael looks at him quizzically. “CostCo. Up in Albuquerque. I go there maybe once a month, stock up.” Michael takes the bottle, guzzles it. Alex nods approvingly. “Here, have an energy bar, too.”

Michael eyes him. Alex looks almost anxious, easing only when Michael takes the food and starts eating. The attention makes Michael uncomfortable, and he redirects his attention to the fireplace, making sure that the fire is burning well. “I’ll bring some more wood in so we don’t have to go out any time soon.”

“How are you feeling, after that drive?”

“Honestly, not the greatest,” Michael says. “Like, not bad, but still, I pushed it with my powers to get us here.” He looks at Alex. “I, uh, I know when we set off to get here you said I could stay. That still okay?”

Alex’s shoulders slump a little. He looks resigned. “Yes, Michael. Of course.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Pasta okay for dinner?”

Michael actually laughs a little. “You saw my trailer. I’d be having peanut butter and whiskey right now if not for you. Pasta sounds great.”

Alex’s mouth gets tight. “Okay.” He busies himself with preparing dinner. “Um… about your place,” Alex starts. He looks uncomfortable. “Is it like that a lot? Or was this, like, a bad time?”

Michael’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“The food,” Alex says simply.

“Ah,” Michael says. “I’ve had lots of bad times, Alex. This is just one of them.”

Alex nods, almost to himself. “Okay… okay.” He’s quiet for a moment, standing over the big pot of water that isn’t boiling yet. “You… you know I care about you, right?” Michael just stares at him. “I mean, I meant what I said, before. I do want to be your friend, Michael.”

Michael huffs out a little breath. “Friends…”

Alex frowns. “Yes, friends. So if you ever need anything, Guerin, um, let me know, okay?”

“What is it you think I need, Alex?”

Alex stares at him. “Well…” he starts, carefully, “I do think you need a friend right now. I think you’ve been through a lot. Like, too much.” He swallows. “More than anyone should have to. And, um, the more I’ve talked to Liz, and the more I’ve gotten into some of this Project Shepherd shit, the more I realize just how much has probably been on your shoulders, like, your whole life.” Alex looks so tired, so weary in this moment. “I mean, fuck, I’ve known you since we were kids, and you were dealing with so much shit anyway, and then to find out that you’re an alien on top of it all? With the fear of that hanging over your head?” He shakes his head. “I can’t imagine.” His gaze drops to the floor. “And I hate… hate what happened at Caulfield. No one, no one should have to go through something like that. I’m so, so sorry it happened, Michael. I’m sorry we couldn’t stop it.”

Michael doesn’t dare look up at him, knows he’ll just fucking break if he does.

“So, yeah, um… I do want to be your friend, Michael. If you’ll let me.”

***

Michael wishes he could let himself relax. He _should_ be relaxed. There’s a warm fire going. He’s had a good meal. _Alex,_ fucking Alex is here, seated only feet away from him, looking quiet and content. So why is he still so on edge?

_Because it isn’t real._

Fuck. He wants real. He wants this to be the part of the night where Alex gives him one of _those_ smiles and they go back to the bedroom. Together.

He sees Alex eyeing him. “You… you want to do something?” He must see Michael’s face, because he’s quick to clarify. “Like, um, cards, guitar?”

As if Michael’s going to play the fucking guitar here with Alex. It’s too close… too close to how it was back in the shed, back before their whole lives went to shit.

“Let’s play cards.”

***

Alex, Michael finds out, is the kind of guy that has a big jar of loose change. They’ve been playing poker using quarters, dimes. Alex has just won, again. He’s shuffling the cards when he looks up at Michael. “You… you said you were gonna drink tonight,” he says, too casually.

Michael shrugs. “You saw my place. Not much else to do there.”

Alex gives a tight little nod. “Um… yeah. Well, like I said earlier, I can’t really drink much with my meds, but it’s Christmas Eve, and…” Alex sighs a little. “After I got injured, one of my buddies, he got me a really good bottle of whiskey. He does private contracting now, which apparently pays really well.” He shrugs. “You want some? I’m going to have some too, just a little bit though.”

Michael looks at Alex. This feels like… something. A peace offering, maybe? “Sure, Manes.”

Alex gives him a little smile and gets up. The whiskey’s on a high shelf, and Michael doesn’t even try to hide the once over he gives Alex as his shirt rides up a little. “Macallan, 18 year,” he reads. He braces himself against the counter as he runs a fingernail under the little foil tab.

Michael raises an eyebrow. “Whoa, you haven’t opened it yet?

Alex shakes his head. “Nope. Tonight’s as good a night as any though, right? I’ve got company, it’s Christmas…”

“I mean, I’d drink nail polish remover, though.”

Alex laughs at that. “I guess you would, wouldn’t you?” He suddenly looks a little sheepish. “I, uh, have some of that here, too. If you’d prefer.”

Michael stares at him. “You getting back into old habits?”

Alex smiles a little. It looks kind of sad, to Michael. “Nah. Just figured it would be good to have around. In case anything would ever happen. To you. Or Isobel, or…” his voice trails off, and he looks like he regrets saying anything.

Michael takes pity on him. “Tonight, I think I’ll take the expensive-ass whiskey.”

Alex is already pouring it. “Done.”

Michael takes the offered glass, smells it. It’s a generous pour – Alex hasn’t held back. There’s at least twice as much in Michael’s glass as Alex’s, and Alex is watching Michael expectantly as he raises the glass to his lips and takes a sip.

“Well?”

“Damn,” Michael says, the appreciation genuine. “This is some good shit, Manes.”

“Isn’t it?”

Michael points to Alex’s glass. “You haven’t even had any yet.”

Alex huffs out a little breath. “I’ve tried it before, though.”

Michael raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Oh?” Alex looks vaguely flustered, and Michael has a thought. “With your contractor ‘friend’?” he asks, air quotes and all.

Alex scoffs a little. “God, no. Not Tom. Nah… um, it was just one other time. In Berlin.”

“Berlin?” Michael takes another small sip of the whiskey, holds it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it down. “When’d you go there? While you were at Ramstein?”

Alex looks almost surprised. “Yeah, um, that’s right. Between my first and second tours. Actually, it was right around Christmas. I had some leave, and decided to, you know, see some sites.” He takes a slow, careful sip of his whiskey. “God, this is good,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

Michael frowns. “You didn’t come home that year.”

Alex licks his lips a little. “No, I didn’t. When I’d been back that summer, things… um, things hadn’t been good between us.”

Michael remembers. Remembers telling Alex that he was sick of being his dirty little secret, that if Alex reenlisted, he should just go away and stay gone…

He hadn’t _really_ meant it.

Alex is eyeing Michael. “I… I was actually still thinking about maybe coming home that Christmas, trying to patch things up with you, but, um, I talked… talked to Maria, and she was telling me about stuff at the bar, old classmates and things like that, and she mentioned about you and, and Señora Blanco, and it just…” Alex shrugs a shoulder. “I dunno, I just didn’t want to come all the way home from Germany just to spend the whole week with my dad and brothers, you know?”

Michael’s staring at Alex, not saying a word.

“What?”

“Me and Señora Blanco? _That’s_ why you didn’t come home that Christmas?”

Alex looks away. “I mean, that was part of it.”

“She’d just gotten divorced, Alex.”

Alex tilts his head, looks at Michael. “She was our high school Spanish teacher.”

Michael narrows his eyes, wants to make a smartass comment, but the look on Alex’s face deflates him. “It didn’t last long,” he says, softly. “And it was never serious. She found a new guy pretty soon, married him. I think she has like three kids now.” Alex looks like he’s holding back, too, tightening his jaw and taking a slow sip of his whiskey. Michael eyes him. “So… Berlin?”

Alex bites his lip a little. “Yeah… Berlin.” He gives Michael a little look, as if trying to determine something, then starts talking. “Like I said, it was the holidays, and I had some leave. I took the train to Berlin, by myself.” Alex is running his tongue along his teeth. “DADT was still pretty newly gone, and it had been a while, and…” He swirls the whiskey around in his glass. “I’d heard that Berlin was real open, so I figured maybe I’d check it out. So I’m walking around the city when this crazy storm hits. Like, ice, high wind. I ducked into the closest place I could find, just to try and wait it out, you know?” Alex laughs a little. “And turns out it was the fucking Ritz-Carlton.” He shakes his head. “And there I was, straight off the train, with my backpack, trying to figure out how many drinks I could even afford.” His eyes flick to Michael, flick back to the whiskey. “And then this guy sits down next to me, starts talking to me. British. Older. In town for business.”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “Oh, shit.”

Alex smirks a little. “Yeah. And, like, I start to get an idea of what he wants, right? Like, he’s trying to impress me. Buys me a beer. Then, like, gets me one of these.” He gestures to the whiskey, swallows. “One thing led to another, and… yeah.” He’s avoiding Michael’s eyes, looking at the fire instead.

Michael leans toward Alex. “This sounds like, like fuckin’ Pretty Woman or something – minus the prostitution, I mean.”

Alex gives him a look. “Yeah, no prostitution, thanks. But, um…” He laughs a little. “God, I’ve never told anyone about this. It’s actually pretty ridiculous. I ended up staying in the hotel with him the rest of the week. Going out with him at night. And this guy, he just had, like, money to burn.” He shakes his head. “He had no idea I was military. Thought I was just some American guy backpacking through Europe. And it… it was kind of fun to pretend. Pretend like I had this whole other life.”

“Where you were a kept man.”

Alex barks out a little laugh. “For a few days, yeah, I guess I was.” He looks at Michael then, face suddenly solemn. “This guy, he was definitely way too into himself, used to getting his way. But for a few days, it… it was nice to be taken care of.” He’s staring into the fire again, gaze a bit far-off. “Like, in the military, I knew that people had my back. And that was something I never really had before. Definitely not at home. But being taken care of? That was… something different.” He glances down, and Michael follows his gaze. His leg. He’s looking at his leg. “And it’s not like something like that would ever happen to me again.”

He looks thoughtful, then he glances in Michael’s direction. “Does… does hearing about stuff like this bother you? Because… because I can definitely stop, if it does.”

And Michael has to sort of gut check himself. Because, oddly… no. Hearing about his ex… oh god. Ex what? Not ex-boyfriend – they never really had a chance at that. Ex-love? Also, no… “ex” implies it’s in the past, and Michael… he knows he still loves Alex. Ex-lover, maybe. Because unfortunately, _so_ unfortunately, they certainly weren’t still sleeping together…

But anyway, no… hearing about his ex-lover having some fuckfest five years ago with, with a damn sugar daddy? Doesn’t bother him _nearly_ as much as hearing about said ex’s military training. His deployments. His injuries. Because he remembers 23-year-old Alex, remembers how he looked, how he smelled, how he smiled… so how could he blame some guy halfway across the world for wanting Alex to be his, if only for a few days?

It… it wasn’t as if he _liked_ the idea, though. But it was somehow better than imagining Alex in the desert. Or with someone new, someone _now…_

“No,” he says. “It doesn’t bother me.”

And Alex… Alex stops. Really looks at him, scrutinizes him as if he’s looking for something. And Michael doesn’t know if he finds it or not, just knows that he suddenly nods to himself, downs the rest of the whiskey that he’d previously been so carefully sipping, and lets his face go blank.

“Well, you’re probably tired. Let me go grab some pillows and sheets.”

“Wait, Alex?”

Alex turns around, avoids Michael’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“With the guy, in Berlin, that was Christmas, too?”

“Pretty close.”

Michael frowns. “And… and that wasn’t your best Christmas?” Alex seems to freeze. Stares at Michael. “Like, five-star hotel, Europe, no responsibilities? Um… lots of sex?”

Alex’s lips are pressed together firmly. “I already told you what my favorite Christmas was,” he says, voice tight.

“Yeah, but…” Michael can hear his own desperation. “Why that one? Why was it your favorite?”

Some of Alex’s tension seems to fade away at the question, leaving only weariness behind. “Because, Michael,” he finally says. “Because I was 18. Because I was in love.” He swallows. “Now let me get you a blanket.”

***

Michael dreams, that night.

Dreams of him and Alex. Together.

They’re in a bed, a huge one – the biggest Michael’s ever seen. Soft sheets. Clean.

And it’s good, it’s so good. Alex loves him. Alex wants him.

Alex gets up.

Doesn’t come back.

Michael starts running. This place, he’s in, it’s a hotel. He’s in a hotel. He’s banging on doors, searching.

And then there’s Kyle, nicely dressed, looking like he belongs. Striding up to Michael, putting a hand to his chest. Gentle but firm. Shaking his head at him.

And Michael peers around Kyle. Sees Alex in a dining room. With another guy. Smiling. Comfortable. Laughing. Holding hands.

And Michael understands.

Theirs… theirs is a relationship for closed doors. Kyle nods.

***

It’s not an easy wake-up, this morning. Michael is up with a start, panting heavily from the dream that’s just concluded.

“Hey, hey, Michael.”

It’s Alex’s voice, and for a moment, Michael wonders if he’s really awake yet, or if his subconscious is about to throw him into another painful scenario.

But then he’s seeing the interior of the cabin, smelling the wood smoke and the…

Bacon?

Alex is looking at him, concerned. “Michael? You okay?”

And, shit, he is now. Because Alex is looking like a goddamn dream, soft and sleepy. Arm crutch and Michael’s sweats, still.

“I should have waited to start breakfast, I’m sorry.”

Sorry? Michael takes in the smells. Bacon’s the dominant one, but he smells eggs, too, and –

“Hot chocolate?” Alex asks, extending a mug to Michael.

Michael accepts it, but doesn’t sip yet. “Where… where’d you get all this, Manes? Is the power back on?”

Alex’s mouth twists a little. “No, not yet. I had a bunch of stuff in my fridge, though, figured I might as well use it before it goes bad.”

Michael frowns. “Damn, Alex, you shouldn’t have opened the fridge. Rest of the stuff in there isn’t going to last as long now.”

Alex shrugs a little. “It was a gamble, I guess. But, I figured what the hell? It’s Christmas Day, and I have company. Like, if we need to, we’ll just keep cooking, right? And we can get the generator going for a little while again if we need it.”

Michael nods. He brings the mug to his lips, takes a tentative sip. “Damn,” he mutters. “This is really good.”

Alex smiles. “It’s just a mix. Lots more where that came from, though.” He pauses. “There’s coffee, too. Tea.”

Michael shakes his head. “This is fine for now.”

“Okay.” Alex turns a bit, looks at Michael. “Hey, how do you take your eggs?”

How does he take his eggs? No one’s ever asked him that, outside of a few diner waitresses. “Just cook them however you like ‘em, Manes. Beggars can’t be choosers,” he jokes.

Alex frowns, just a little. “Scrambled, it is, I guess. You want cheese in them? Vegetables?”

Now Michael frowns. “However you want, Alex. It’s your house.” Alex stares at him for a long moment before he turns back to the hot pan. Michael gets the sense he’s not pleased about something, but he doesn’t know what it could be. Michael clears his throat. “Um, how did you sleep last night?”

“Okay. A few nightmares, but nothing too bad. You?”

“Same, actually.” And there’s that frown again. Michael’s quick to try to smooth it away. “But, ah, the couch, it was comfortable. And I was plenty warm with the fire right here and… you know,” he says, gesturing to himself.

Alex gives a half-smile at that. “Yeah.”

By the time Michael uses the bathroom, Alex is plating their food and putting it on a little wooden table. “Everything’s ready, if you are,” he says, and Michael nods. Sits down and takes in the spread in front of him.

There’s bacon. More hot chocolate. A big bowl of scrambled eggs with cheese. And pancakes, a little burned. With butter. And maple syrup, the real kind, in a nice cut glass container that looks like a little leaf…

All those things he’d wanted to give Alex yesterday. Couldn’t.

Could he _ever?_

“Looks good, Manes,” he says, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. And what is Alex playing at, here? Like, what is he doing? Normally, Michael would absolutely tear into a meal like this, but right now, in this place, with this person, he just feels sad. Uncertain. Like… he wants this, with Alex, but he wants it for real.

Michael jams a strip of bacon into his mouth, feels the crunch of it, tastes the notes of smoke and salt and maple. God damn… “You cook like this for all your friends? For Kyle?”

Alex’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and then his lips curl up, just a little. “Kyle? No way. Do you know how many carbs are on this table right now?”

And that draws a laugh from Michael, a real one. Which in turn pulls a genuine, almost bashful smile from Alex. And for the rest of breakfast, Michael lets himself relax and… pretend.

***

The fire’s crackling. They’re drinking coffee now, and it’s great. The couch is comfortable. And Alex is…

_Not_ his boyfriend, Michael reminds himself.

The way he’s looking at him, though…

Alex keeps looking Michael’s way, then looking away. He takes small, careful sips of his coffee, savoring it.

“So…” he finally starts.

Michael tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“It’s Christmas.”

“Uh huh…”

Alex exhales a deep breath, puts down his mug. “I, um, I have something for you.”

Michael looks at him, confused. “What? Like, you got me a Christmas gift?”

Alex swallows, hard. “Well… not really. It is yours, though. And I should have given it to you a while ago. I… I wanted to. I actually planned to months ago, the day you first told me you were an alien.” He’s still then, eyeing his mug like he wants to take a sip, but he doesn’t. Instead, he closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them. Looks right at Michael.

“You might be mad at me. That I’ve kept this from you. And I’d understand that. But please know that I… I’m trying to be better.” Alex looks down at his lap. “Not, not just for you, but for me.” His jaw tightens a bit. “I haven’t been good for a long time, Michael. Maybe not ever, I’m realizing. But I… I’m trying to change that. I, um, I take my meds, I do my exercises… like, I’m trying to work on my shit. I know I have a lot of it.”

Michael is wide-eyed, quiet. Waits for Alex to continue.

“And I know one of my big things is control. Like… growing up, I had none. None,” he repeats, emphasizing the word. “My, uh, my one attempt was the end of high school. The clothes, the piercings, and we, we know how that ended.” Alex shakes his head bitterly. “Then the military, where it was always about doing what other people wanted, commanded.” He meets Michael’s eyes. “When I told you that what I wanted didn’t matter, I meant it.” He shakes his head. “And then I was back here, and you were here, and I just… I panicked. And I ran. And I know that hurt you. More than I realized. And I’m sorry.” He licks his lips. “And then… then I find out you’re an alien? And my dad’s hunting you? Everything… everything with Caulfield. And Project Shepherd. The things my family has done to your family. It’s just… horrible. Cruel.” He looks down. When he finally speaks again, his voice is soft. “And you’re building a spaceship.” His eyes are wide when he looks up, holds Michael’s gaze. “I don’t want you to leave the planet Michael. But that’s not my call to make, and I’m sorry I tried to control it.”

Michael is stunned that all of this has just poured out of Alex, and he’s honestly a little taken aback, and confused.

“Wait here,” Alex says quietly, rising from his seat.

He’s back in less than a minute, holding a backpack. He hands it to Michael wordlessly and sits back down on the couch, watching Michael intently.

Michael doesn’t know if he wants to even touch this backpack, let alone unzip it and see what’s inside. Caving under the pressure of Alex’s gaze, though, he pulls the zipper, lets the main compartment open, and…

It’s a piece of his ship. A big fucking piece.

He looks up sharply. “Where did you get this?”

Alex swallows. “Here.”

***

Michael is down in the creepy detox bunker. “This is fucked up, man.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Alex says, wryly, peering down at him.

Michael looks at the bed. “If you ever want some help with this, just, like, call me, okay? Like, I could take this bed apart, float it up and out of here.”

Alex looks thoughtful. “Yeah… yeah, I might have you do that.”

Michael looks at the hole in the wall. “So this is where it was, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Could fix this, too.”

“Okay…”

Michael closes his eyes, tries to sense if there’s anything else here that might not be… earthly. He feels nothing, and begins to ascend the ladder.

Alex backs away from the entrance, allowing Michael back into the living area. Michael uses his mind to close the bunker and place the table over the entrance.

“Fuckin’ bunkers, man.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of messed up.”

Michael flops onto the couch where the alien glass is sitting. “This is one of the biggest pieces I’ve seen.” He runs a hand over it. “Like, this might complete the console.”

“Wow,” Alex says, sounding thoroughly unenthusiastic.

Michael leans back onto the couch. Looks right at Alex. “I think we need to talk, Manes.”

Alex raises his eyebrows.

“I think we’ve needed to talk for a long time.”

Alex’s shoulders slump. “Yeah.” He looks at Michael, sprawled out on the couch, and sits down carefully in the armchair across from him. They’re both quiet for a moment, looking at each other.

Alex is first to speak. “I know we’ve been trying to be nice. I know that. But… for this conversation? Whatever we are about to say to each other?” He closes his eyes, shakes his head. “I’d rather we be honest.”

“Honest…” Michael repeats.

“Yeah,” Alex mutters. “I don’t think we talk to each other very well. Like, does that make sense? We, we keep missing each other, I think, and I don’t want to do that anymore. I, I want us to try to be clear with each other. Even if it hurts. I’m tired of guessing when it comes to you, Michael. Second guessing, third guessing, I dunno…”

Michael’s quiet, taking this in. “You should be careful what you wish for, Manes.”

Alex looks at him sharply. “See, stuff like that. Like, what does that _mean_?”

Michael chews at his lip. “Means that I could make it so we’re _real_ honest with each other. This conversation?” he says, gesturing between them. “I could get in your head, and we could have it there.”

Alex is frowning at him. “What?”

“There’s no lying in the mindscape,” Michael says, matter-of-factly. “You really want honesty, then we could guarantee it.”

Alex’s response comes quickly. “ _No._ ”

Michael feels the anger building, nods tightly. “So that’s how it is. It’s the alien shit, huh? Gets to you.” He scoffs a little. “You haven’t touched me, really, since you found out.” He raises an eyebrow. “It freaks you out, doesn’t it?” He purses his lips. “Or maybe you just don’t want me to see how you _really_ feel, don’t want to give up your _control._ ”

Alex’s eyes widen, and then he bites his lip, hard. “Michael,” he says, and his tone is firm. Military. Michael hates it. And Alex seems to sense it, because his shoulders collapse a little, along with his face. “You’re… you’re right. It _does_ freak me out, some. But… but more than that, I don’t want you trying it like this, not when you’ve never done it before.”

“Scared I’ll scramble your brains?”

“I’m scared you’ll scramble _yours!_ ” Alex shouts, and that shuts Michael right up. Alex rakes his hands through his hair. “God damn it, Michael, are you that… that careless with yourself? No, I _know_ you are. I’ve known it since the goddamn tool shed, fuck.” Alex’s face is in his hands now. He looks up at Michael, eyes pleading. “When you do it, do it with Isobel. Please. She knows what she’s doing. She can probably do it with you, tell you if stuff is normal, help you get out if it’s too much. But don’t do it like this, on impulse.” Alex shakes his head. “And… and if you want to practice on a, a human, I’ll help you. Of course I will.” Alex looks at him with something close to desperation. “It… it was never about you being an alien, Michael, why I left the bunker that day. It was about the ship, and you wanting to leave, and me _knowing_ that I held the key to that.”

Michael can hear his own blood pounding in his ears, his own heart beating. “What do you want from me, Alex?”

Alex is breathing unsteadily, staring at him. “We’re being honest?” Michael nods. “I want everything,” Alex says, voice low.

Michael’s breath hitches. He forces himself to keep looking at Alex, to move his mouth, to form words. “What… what does that mean? Spell, spell it out for me, Manes.”

Alex licks his lips, looks Michael over. “I want this. You, here, in my cabin. Christmas together. For _real_ , not just because shitty circumstances threw us together, but because we chose it. I want…” And _fuck,_ Michael can see, in this moment, how painful it is for Alex to actually come out and say what he wants, when it comes to Michael, when it comes to them, together. “I, I want to be with you. In every way. As… as your friend, but as more than that. I want you to let me love you, Michael. And…” Alex drops his head. “I want you to love me, too.”

Michael is silent.

And he knows, after a certain length of time, that he’s let the silence go too long, and Alex knows it too, and –

And he hears Kyle’s fucking voice, and he knows what he has to do.

“I can’t love you, Alex. Not the way you deserve to be loved.”

Alex is quiet for a long while, just staring at Michael, searching him. “What I deserve…” he finally says, and it sounds… dangerous, almost. “What I deserve…” he repeats.

He regards Michael carefully. “You know how many people have thought that they knew what I _deserved_ , Michael?” Michael swallows nervously. “Dad, number one. Always quick to let me know how much I _deserved_ what I got from him.” His eyes flick to Michael’s healed hand. “How much other people deserved what they got, because of me.” His face is tense. “Then the military. Boot camp’s a bitch, but I was ready for it. They make you feel like a piece of shit, but I already felt that way, right? Why would I deserve to be treated any different than that, ever? Wasn’t a shock to my system, like it was to other people.” He rolls his eyes a little. “And then I was a good Airman, and people decided that I deserved medals. Awards. I got my leg blown the fuck off, and the military decided I deserved a Purple Heart.” Alex’s eyes narrow. “Meanwhile, no one asked me what I thought I deserved… and I didn’t ask either.”

He takes a breath. “I… I told you I’ve been working on me. And it’s taken me a long fucking time. But you know what I’m starting to think I actually _do_ deserve?” It’s rhetorical, Michael knows, so he says nothing. “I think I deserve to actually do what I want. Like, just live my own fucking life. Make my own decisions.” His eyes flick over to Michael. “Love who I want to love.” He nods a little, to himself. “I deserve to be with who I want to be with, Michael, if that person wants to be with me, too.”

He pauses. “So… do you? Want to be with me?”

And Michael looks at him, really looks. There’s hope in his eyes, but there’s fear, too. And perhaps worst of all, a sad sort of resignation…

“I… I _want_ to, Alex,” Michael starts. Carefully.

“But,” Alex says, matter-of fact.

“But I’m a fucking mess.”

Alex brings a hand to his temple, massages it. Sets his jaw and looks straight at Michael. “If we were in the mindscape right now, Michael, and you had to be honest, totally honest, and I asked you if you loved me, what would you say?”

Michael swallows. Pictures the mindscape, really pictures it, with its shimmering colors, blurred edges. Imagines it with Alex, wide-eyed and beautiful and hopeful. Now. At 17. At every point in between and beyond.

“I love you. Still. Never stopped.” The words are out before he can even fully comprehend what he’s just said. And they keep coming. “Since we were 17, and you gave me a place to live, and a guitar, and… and _you._ ” He feels the warm prick of tears at his eyes, keeps going. “You gave me _you,_ Alex. I love you. And.. and I think I always will.”

***

The words, they aren’t magic.

Michael is still fucked up.

Alex, too, really.

The words aren’t magic, but they’re… something.

Something important, something necessary.

And they begin to melt the tension, sure as the sun begins to melt the snow outside the cabin.

By New Year’s, Michael is still at the cabin. By summer, the Airstream is there, too.

And next Christmas?

It’s _real_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! And happy holidays to all, especially 8verity8!


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